


purple lilacs against the corner of your eye

by saunatonttu



Series: Eleven Days of KuroTsukki [11]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad Jokes, Cliche, First Loves, Love at First Sight, M/M, bokuto plays uke like he was born to rock it, kuroo is an artist but not an art student, kurotsukkiweek day 11, mentioned sex makes this mature but nothing explicit ok, prompt: free day (anything goes)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 20:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4318218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saunatonttu/pseuds/saunatonttu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo Tetsurou, not really an aspiring artist, sees Tsukishima Kei in a sunny day.</p><p>That's how it begins, that's how he falls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	purple lilacs against the corner of your eye

He was always sketching something: people, animals, trees, even clouds. Tetsurou loved a good pencil on a sheet of his notebook, which admittedly wasn’t as good for sketching as it was for taking notes in class. That didn’t stop Tetsurou. He drew long lines over the print, shapes of faces forming with a little bit of work. Some were familiar – Akaashi’s was difficult but pleasing – and some only came up from Tetsurou’s own wild imagination.

He was drawing under the largest oak tree in the middle of the campus – a tree of wisdom and inspiration, as the professors liked to remind them – with sun glaring down at him, working up drops of sweat between his creased brows. Tetsurou was almost finished sketching Bokuto’s smug smile and the dimples when he glanced up.

Some could say it was fate’s hand that had pulled his head up, that had made Tetsurou’s gold-speckled eyes catch a glimpse of pale angel-hair and delicate limbs, of headphones tucked over the bright hair and ears, of a bag neatly tucked over wide shoulders.

Some could add that fate was even kinder to have the unknown blond turn his head towards Tetsurou, light brown eyes wide but disinterested when they briefly swept over the other’s hunched figure.

Tetsurou had always been a romantic at heart, but love at first sight had always seemed impossible.

Until now.

.

.

.

It wasn’t exactly love as much as it was fascination with beauty that left its imprint on one’s mind, and Tetsurou admitted as much when he sketched the face into an actual sketchbook this time.

The lines were all wrong, the cheekbones too high or too low, though Tetsurou had no idea how they should be in the first place.

Nose was either too big or too delicate.

The smile Tetsurou drew on those lips looked wrong, unnatural, like it shouldn’t be on that face, and it ground on his nerves because _he should be smiling, why isn’t he smiling at me_?

Others said it was just a drawing, a sketch that didn’t matter; it wasn’t like Tetsurou was going to be an artist after graduating anyway.

Tetsurou hadn’t given much thought to the person his sketch tried to portray, but it tingled in the back of his head – the face of a fallen angel, the face that was just another in the many that passed Tetsurou by and might never come up again.

Tetsurou sometimes wondered about him.

Ah. A contradiction.

_You **are** thinking about him as more than just a face in the crowd. _

.

.

.

“You have found a new model.”

Akaashi sounded amused, his voice quiet and muted through all the ruckus Bokuto caused in his wake (and which was ignored for most part). Tetsurou glanced at him and at the sheets of paper Akaashi shuffled through.

A hot embarrassment brought flaring red to his cheeks, and Tetsurou cleared his throat. “Not cool to look through other people’s sketches, Akaashi.”

It was alright, though – it was just Akaashi, Bokuto’s boyfriend and the voice of sanity both Tetsurou and Bokuto needed in times of great need, more commonly known as Monday mornings.

(Morning classes on Monday should be thrown into the fiery pits of hell to burn forever and ever.)

“I’m sorry, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi smiled at him as Bokuto quipped something ineloquent (something about energy drinks) that was also ignored. “Would it help if I told you I have a vague idea of who you’re trying, and failing, to draw?”

“ _Failing_ , huh? That’s harsh, Akaashi.”

“Well, his nose doesn’t look like Pinocchio’s in reality,” Akaashi’s lips tilted into a grin that brought out the shine in his eyes, the glimmer of vitality that was subtle and charming.

The next words were almost fatalistic.

“Tsukishima Kei-kun. He’s in one of my mandatory literature classes for the semester.”

Tetsurou’s heart skipped a beat – and everything went downhill from that moment forward.

.

.

.

 

Akaashi wasn’t a matchmaker, and Tsukishima and Tetsurou weren’t a couple.

In fact, Tetsurou was almost sure Tsukishima hated him from the moment they met each other in the party Bokuto held in his and Akaashi’s apartment, which was supposedly the perfect chance for Tetsurou to charm Tsukishima out of his wits.

It wasn’t like he had been tactless or out of line.

But things happened, and Tsukishima hadn’t let go of his guarded expression throughout the whole night; the tension around his shoulders just grew; the atmosphere of absolute irritation curling around him like a protective blanket.

Long limbs pulled up and arms wrapped around them, Tsukishima spent most of the evening alone on the couch while the rest were busy chugging down Bokuto’s alcohol reserves.

Tetsurou didn’t approach him after his first attempt on breaking the ice – turned out to break the ice under his own feet, since Tsukishima’s eyes only narrowed at him as he gave a minimal response – but he kept catching glimpses of the young man seated on the couch by himself, long limbs entangled with each other and a face prettier than anyone else’s in the room.

When no one else but Tetsurou was looking, Tsukishima’s shoulders slumped as his head slammed down against his knees, the thick-framed glasses still on his face.

A quiet protest in the middle of a riot, a question _why am I here all alone._

A quiet surrender in the battlefield in the form of trembling hands right under his knees. _I know why,_ the gesture said.

Through the throng of people, the sight of Tsukishima’s lonesome figure, impossibly far away, cracked Tetsurou’s heart.

He had never felt more distanced from a person in the same room than he did right then.

.

.

.

“What do you want from me, Kuroo-san?” Tsukishima’s face was pallid, sunken, yet absolutely breathtaking even in the morning. He looked like he had been up all night, and the uncontrolled twitch of his fingers said as much.

The ends of pale golden hair curled slightly in different directions, glowing under sunlight.

“Just came to return your headphones,” Tetsurou waved the said pair in his hand, grinning when Tsukishima’s guarded eyes widened with surprise. A flicker of devastating relief flashed in them, making his shoulders slump and relax.

“I was wondering where I had left them,” Tsukishima admitted quietly, his mouth rolling the vowels and consonants softly and without any bite. “Thank you.” Tsukishima’s hands reached out for the headphones, long lingers wiggling with the need to touch the smooth surface.

“Sorry ‘bout not returning them before,” Tetsurou apologized, rubbing at the side of his neck once Tsukishima’s trembling hands took the headphones from him. “I didn’t know where you lived, and only got hold of Akaashi late last night.”

Tsukishima nodded, his face showing thankfulness even though his lips were in a downturn, the pale pink even paler than what Tetsurou remembered.

 His shoulders tensed up again as his gaze shifted away from Tetsurou, awkwardness radiating off every movement.

Endearing, it was.

“Do you want…” Tsukishima started, the syllables clumsy on his tongue, his brows furrowing on his face. “…have some coffee or something? As thanks.”

Tsukishima kind of looked like he wished Tetsurou would say no.

“I’d love to,” Tetsurou grinned, his stomach flipping pleasantly at the small huff that left Tsukishima’s pretty mouth afterward. “Don’t look like that, glasses-kun, you invited me yourself.”

“I know,” Tsukishima muttered as he stepped aside to let Tetsurou in. “Sorry for my face,” he added sarcastically, with a little more bite, “didn’t choose it myself.”

Tetsurou smiled. “I wouldn’t want it to change, not for anything.”

Tsukishima nearly slammed the door to his face out of reflex, his face burning from embarrassment and possibly irritation at Tetsurou’s easily spoken words.

But the words were sincere, and he must have realized it too.

.

.

.

They ended up spending time together more than they even realized, as though they couldn’t bear to leave once they had entered the other’s sphere of gravity.

Tetsurou learned many things of Tsukishima asides from the bone structure of his face.

Tsukishima had little patience for people, much less for hotheaded ones, and it was with a despairing sneer that Tsukishima mentioned his strange, not-quite friendship with people like Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou, of whom Tetsurou only knew the latter one through his own friend, Kenma.

Even when his face wrinkled into a frown, Tsukishima Kei was beautiful, and Tetsurou’s fingers always itched to sketch out his face, his unauthentic smiles.

Tetsurou’s fingers itched to touch that mouth, the corners of his lips.

Tetsurou settled for an arm over Tsukishima’s bony shoulders, laughing as he made a wisecrack at something Tsukishima just said and laughing harder when Tsukishima made a face and shoved at him.

.

.

.

“Can I draw you, Tsukki?”

The question had been dancing in his mind ever since they had first become acquaintances; it buzzed with the persistency of a bee.

Tsukishima looked up from his iPod he had been mindlessly staring the past minutes, long limbs lying all over the couch he had claimed for himself while Tetsurou had been sketching a scenery, several photographs scattered over the coffee table as references.

“What?” Tsukishima didn’t have his headphones on, so the question was more rhetorical than anything else. The sight of cocked eyebrows and a look of blank disbelief made Tetsurou’s mouth curve up in mild amusement.

“I’ve been wanting to draw you ever since I first saw you,” Tetsurou said sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck as he eyed Tsukishima’s face for any negative reactions. “I’m no art student, but I’m pretty confident I could do you justice.”

“I have seen some of your doodles,” Tsukishima admitted with a sigh as he slowly let go of his iPod to entangle his fingers. “Why, though?”

Tsukishima stared right at him with his large eyes, the light brown color soft and warm like the darker hues of sunset.

Tetsurou’s heart skipped a beat.

“Because you’re the most beautiful person I have ever met,” he blurted out, his face heating once he realized that he had messed up. “You can ignore that, Tsukki, I just—an artist’s eye, you know?”

Tsukishima’s reaction was worth witnessing, though. The dusty red color crawling up to his cheeks, climbing higher and spreading wider as Tetsurou’s voice faded into an awkward silence, was a breathtaking sight.

Lips parted in an attempt to say something. Possibly a snappy retort, if the wrinkle between Tsukishima’s thin brows said anything. Possibly a retort to tell Tetsurou to get the hell out of his own apartment, to get out of Tsukishima’s life – _alright,_ Tetsurou decided, _stop right there, imagination._

“You’re not even an art student,” Tsukishima said, sighed the words out like this was another inevitable obstacle in his life, like he had no choice in the matter.

Tetsurou cringed inwardly. “If you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

Tsukishima snickered at his face, mouth quirking into a smirk. “I’m not saying no. I want to see if you’re as good as Akaashi-san has made you out to be.”

Tetsurou immediately went to gather his actual sketchbook and pieces of charcoal, his mind jittery and limbs twitching with barely suppressed excitement. “You’ve seen some of my doodles, Tsukki. Are you not impressed yet?”

“Frankly speaking, no.”

“ _Ouch._ ”

Tsukishima laughed, and the sound was enough to wipe away all the indignation from Tetsurou’s mind. “Sorry, Kuroo-san, but your face was hilarious just now.”

 _It’s okay, just keep laughing,_ Tetsurou wanted to say.

Instead, he flashed a grin and set himself up. “Get comfortable, Tsukki, ‘coz you won’t be moving for a while.”

.

.

.

Tsukki was a good model – his stillness was natural, relaxed, like a calm before the storm. His glasses-framed eyes held worlds that Tetsurou wanted to explore, worlds worth falling into and never getting back to his own.

Tetsurou was an observant person by nature, but as he sketched the outlines of Tsukishima’s face, he noticed more.

Tsukki’s height hadn’t escaped his attention, but he hadn’t noticed the awkwardness in Tsukki’s stance before and the way he didn’t seem to manage to set his limbs into a comfortable position.

“You can relax, you know,” Tetsurou murmured, “it’s not like I’m a professional or anything.”

“I’m always this tense,” Tsukishima said simply, his face scrunching up a little as Tetsurou’s eyes continued drinking him in. It wasn’t irritation, Tetsurou noted. At least not all of it.

Self-consciousness?

“Just imagine me naked or something,” Tetsurou joked, laughing at the scandalized expression that spread over Tsukishima’s face. “Just kidding. Please stop looking at me like that, Tsukki.”

“Please stop talking, or I’ll leave.” Tsukishima didn’t seem too eager to move, though; he had relaxed noticeably and even though he didn’t seem comfortable in his skin at all, the tension had evaporated for most part.

Tetsurou smiled, a soft feeling tugging at his heartstrings, and went back to carefully copying Tsukishima’s face down into paper.

.

.

.

One sketch turned into several, one sheet of paper after another filled with Tsukishima’s face and hands and legs and legs.

Days and weeks passed and piles of sketches gathered on Tetsurou’s coffee table, some better at capturing Tsukki’s ethereal beauty than others.

Tsukishima’s fingers held one of those sketches now, a thoughtful expression on his ever so pale face. Tetsurou looked at him, smiling at the sight of Tsukki on his couch, legs thrown over one cushion in disarray and leaving no room for Tetsurou.

Not that Tetsurou minded.

Tsukishima looked like he belonged there when he lay on the cushions like that, headphones around his neck and music booming loud enough for Tetsurou to hear the beat of the Twenty One Pilots’ song.

“This is really good,” Tsukishima muttered as he leaned over to put one of the papers back on coffee table for Tetsurou to look at.

It was rare for Tsukki to compliment on Tetsurou’s drawings, so Tetsurou knew he must mean it this time, though it was hard to tell from the (not quite) blank look on Tsukishima’s face.

Tsukishima quickly glanced down to hide the smile that threatened to curl on his lips, but it was too late. Tetsurou had already noticed, and the sight had made a warm feeling blossom deep within him – a warm, tingling feeling that spread all the way down to his toes and all the way up his head.

Tetsurou picked the sheet of paper up and looked at it. A simple sketch of Tsukishima’s face, extra focus on the delicacy of his face and thinness of lips, dips and contours of skin shown by charcoal-colored shadows.

Tsukishima’s eyes were pale gray in the sketch, uncolored as it was, but Tetsurou liked the shapes, the large roundness that reminded Tetsurou of a puppy, although they were hardly as gentle as a puppy’s unless Tsukishima let his guard down – which had started to happen more as he had gotten comfortable around Tetsurou.

“Yeah, I agree,” Tetsurou hummed, lips curling into a grin as his gaze went to the model of the sketch, animated and in color and much better to Tetsurou’s eyes. He wanted to go over and wrap his arm around Tsukishima’s shoulder, wanted to press their cheeks together and tell him just how lovely _he_ himself was. More than just as a model to his sketches.

“Aren’t you supposed to be modest?” Tsukishima snorted, amused by Tetsurou’s confidence, and lifted his head up and tilted sideward in a swift movement, his pale neck showing off its clear skin. “It’s not like you’re an art student—“

“Just ‘coz you don’t study something doesn’t mean you can’t be good at it,” Tetsurou snickered, “don’t you have things you’re good at too outside from your history program, Tsukki?”

Tsukishima shrugged, his shoulders tensing again as a flash of agitation flickered in his eyes. “I’m not really good at anything,” he said, sounding utterly bored of the conversation already, but there was no denying the irritated fidgeting of Tsukishima’s fingers.

Tetsurou blinked. “You must be kidding.”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “Not everyone excels at anything, Kuroo-san.” The honorific came out harshly, like nails against chalkboard, and Tetsurou’s brow wrinkled into a displeased frown.

Tsukishima glared at him, then, daring him to say anything at all to counter his statement.

Tetsurou sighed and shrugged, coming over to the couch and plopping himself beside Tsukishima.

The following silence was uncomfortable, suffocating like wool-made clothes in summer heat. Tsukishima made it a point to not look at Tetsurou, shoulders high and posture screaming for Tetsurou to drop whatever was about to come from his mouth.

Too bad Tetsurou was just as stubborn as Tsukishima on this matter.

“You’ll figure it out, Tsukki,” he said quietly, eyes sharp and narrow, his voice quiet enough to demand Tsukishima’s full attention. Wrapping an arm around his shoulder, Tetsurou continued, now that the calm earth-colored eyes were back on him. “It’s not like we’re amazing at things we like from the very start.”

“Sure,” Tsukishima said, lips curling in disdain, but there was an undertone that made Tetsurou uneasy.

Undertone of _I don’t really like anything, though._

.

.

.

At some point, Saturday afternoons devolved into Tetsurou crashing Tsukishima’s one-person apartment to listen some music and show off his (unfortunately nonexistent) guitar skills.

“You’re awful,” Tsukishima told him flat-out, all politeness forgotten as he snickered into his hand, but there was no mean tone to his voice. “Honestly, even Akiteru’s better, and he can’t even—“ Tsukishima’s voice abruptly cut off, his face paling as he realized his blunder.

“Rude,” Tetsurou muttered, pretending he hadn’t heard the last bit. He knew Tsukishima had issues with his brother – they had touched the topic at one point during their sketching sessions when Tsukishima was about to fall asleep on him. “Show me what you’ve got then, Tsukki.” The challenge was playful, accompanied with a mischievous grin on Tetsurou’s face, and it placated Tsukishima enough to have him smirk back.

“You shouldn’t have said that, Kuroo.”

Tetsurou laughed. “Only if you can prove yourself better.”

Tsukishima hesitated, the memory of their past conversation regarding his skills obviously stirred in his mind. “Good enough to beat you.”

And the rest was history.

(Tsukishima pulled off a breathtaking version of Metallica’s “Nothing Else Matters”, and Tetsurou was impressed. So impressed he had been rendered speechless, which was a rarity in itself.

Naturally, he took Tsukishima out for coffee, paying for extra strawberry shortcake as a reward.)

.

.

.

Tsukishima’s laughter made Tetsurou’s love for the other grow tenfold every time he heard it.

The feeling in Tetsurou was a horrible cycle of terrible need to touch Tsukishima, to make him laugh, to make him _happy_ , and Tetsurou wasn’t quite sure how to not make a fool of himself.

Tsukishima was many things – he was the calm before a storm, he was the color of the setting sun, he was the erratic beat of Tetsurou’s heart, the jolt that ran through Tetsurou’s spine.

Quite possibly Tetsurou’s first real love.

And, _god_ , Tetsurou wanted to kiss him.

.

.

.

Summer break, and Tetsurou saw Tsukishima without a hoodie for the first time – saw how thin he really was underneath all the clothes.

Maybe it was horrible of him, but Tetsurou’s first thought wasn’t one of concern.

 _Beautiful._ The word rang through his head, beat through his chest, and flooded his veins until he was burning hotter than the sun outside.

Tank top and short shorts, and Tetsurou felt like someone was testing him, teasing him with the person he wanted so much, but whom he would never want to pressure into anything when he had hard times with himself already, his own inward demons to conquer.

“It’s so hot,” Tsukishima moaned miserably from the couch, sweat clinging to his skin like a damp blanket. “Kill me.”

“How do you think I feel,” Tetsurou groaned from the armchair, “my hair is a gift from Satan’s asshole:”

“Gross.”

“My words or my hair?”

“Both,” Tsukishima yawned, but it cut off halfway as he started laughing his cute, kind of nerdy laugh that always left Tetsurou’s knees weak.

At least he was sitting this time.

“Rude, but I can’t disagree,” Tetsurou sighed as he ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair, cringing at the greasy feeling between his fingers. “I need a shower.”

“Mmhm.” Tsukishima’s legs lay over the arm of the couch, long and attractive and Tetsurou wasn’t sure exactly what he was thirsty for anymore. Sweat glistened under Tsukishima’s knee, shimmering under the light of the sun. Tetsurou’s eyes shifted to the curling and uncurling toes, took in the delicate ankle.

Tetsurou’s eyes moved up to Tsukishima’s abdomen, breath catching in his throat when he noticed the tank top riding higher than usual, revealing bits of Tsukishima’s stomach, pale and almost glowing in the sunshine.

“What’re you staring at?” Tsukishima’s drowsy voice (always, _always_ drowsy, as though he could fall asleep anytime) redirected Tetsurou’s attention to his face, to the hollows of his cheeks, to the faintly red skin, to the attentive brown eyes that probably could see straight into Tetsurou’s soul if they tried. If Tsukishima tried. If he cared enough to want to try.

“You,” Tetsurou said simply, the truth comfortable in his mouth. He grinned when Tsukishima’s face reddened, a choked splutter stumbling past his lips. “I haven’t seen you out of your hoodies before, so…”

Tsukishima shifted uncomfortably. “I can go get one if—“

“Hell no,” Tetsurou snorted. “Heat strokes are awful. Besides—“ Tetsurou glanced at Tsukishima’s model-like legs. “I rather like the sight.”

“Go take a shower,” Tsukishima grumbled from the couch, his face half-buried into a cushion, mostly out of embarrassment or so Tetsurou figured. Had no one really complimented him before Tetsurou? _What a waste_ , Tetsurou thought as he laughed lightly and went to ruffle Tsukishima’s glowing hair.

“Be back soon, Tsukki,” he murmured, voice low before he strutted away, half of him hoping that Tsukishima was watching him go.

.

.

.

Summer days turned into Tetsurou drawing Tsukishima in his various short shorts and tank tops with Tsukishima lying on the couch like the unprofessional model he was. Tetsurou couldn’t quite find his breath whenever he raised his head to look at Tsukishima from the paper he was drawing him into.

Tsukishima’s eyes were smoldering, burning Tetsurou’s skin with the way they looked at him.

Sahara in his eyes, Tsukishima almost looked like he wanted Tetsurou too, like he was being deprived of something he needed badly.

Tetsurou stilled his hands as a shiver ran through him, through his heart and entire being.

Tsukishima stayed quiet, a tongue flicking over his lower lip on occasion, Adam’s apple bobbing, and the muscles of his neck shifting like a ripple.

Even a cold shower would not make that imagery leave Tetsurou’s head after Tsukishima had gone back to his own apartment a floor or two above Tetsurou’s.

.

.

.

When they had had classes, they had only seen each other during weekends despite living a couple of floors between them.

Summer saw them hanging out on almost daily basis, and that was when Tetsurou started noticing the dark rings under Tsukishima’s eyes – it was normal on Saturday after a hard week at university, but during summer it felt ominous, like Tsukishima had something on his mind that kept him from sleep all the time.

“It’s just insomnia,” Tsukishima told him when he asked about it, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal. “I’m used to it by now,” he added as he scooped up a spoonful of ice cream from a plate, bringing the spoon to his mouth.

“There’s gotta be some medicine for that,” Tetsurou hummed, just about finished with a cone. “Kenma used to be an insomniac, but nowadays he sleeps pretty well.”

Tsukishima shrugged, accidentally smudging ice cream to the corner of his mouth.

Tetsurou leaned over to wipe it off with his thumb, smiling gingerly at the look on Tsukishima’s face (nervous, on guard, like he didn’t know what to do about Tetsurou’s finger). “I just want you to take care of yourself, Tsukki,” he said quietly, softly, and Tsukishima’s face shifted into a pained expression.

“Don’t say that, Kuroo.” _I’m not worth your worry_ was the message Tetsurou got, and it tore at his heart.

.

.

.

The dark rings under Tsukishima’s eyes were black, glaringly obvious even in the coal-made sketch that Tetsurou held in his hands.

“He looks sad,” Akaashi commented from his side, cheek pressed against Tetsurou’s shoulder as they looked over his sketches.

“He does,” Tetsurou agreed with a sinking feeling in his chest, the feeling of himself being gutted. “He always does.”

“He’s been happier, recently,” Akaashi murmured, content with pressing his cheek against Tetsurou’s shoulder even as Bokuto waltzed in nothing but boxers and plopped besides Akaashi, whose hand went to squeeze Bokuto’s thigh in greeting.

“What’re you talking about?” Bokuto asked, leaning over Akaashi to get a glance at the drawings. “Ah, Tsukki!”

“You still haven’t asked him out, Kuroo-san?” Akaashi asked, a knowing glint in his eyes as he straightened himself before leaning against Bokuto for a change. The heat really turned Akaashi into something like a puddle, Tetsurou noted in amusement as Bokuto nuzzled his boyfriend’s forehead affectionately.

Tetsurou smiled sheepishly. “Not yet.”

“Cowaaaaard,” Bokuto laughed.

“It’s just,” Tetsurou sighed as he leaned back on the couch where he could _still_ feel Tsukishima’s presence, “it feels like taking things too fast would lead us into a disaster, you know? An apocalypse of my heart, or something.”

“Dude,” Bokuto snorted, hands squeezing a completely sluggish Akaashi against him. “Those are the best disasters.”

Tetsurou laughed. Of course, Bokuto would say that while hanging onto his own sweet catastrophe.

“I guess you’re right,” he said, eyes gentle as they watched the downward curve of Tsukishima’s mouth and the dead light of his eyes (that could burn so bright, hot enough to scorch Tetsurou’s insides--)

.

.

.

In the end, Tsukishima was the one to make the first move – which was what Tetsurou had honestly wanted to happen, because he felt it was for the best considering how badly Tsukishima reacted to people invading his space without permission.

He would adjust to Tsukishima’s pace; he’d come closer if Tsukishima so wanted.

(Maybe he was scared of rejection, as well – it was a terrifying lump in the back of his throat, like a heavy tumor in his stomach, a sickening suffocation in his lungs.)

It began with hooked ankles and two abandoned coffees on Tetsurou’s table, the drinks forgotten as they went through Tetsurou’s drawings again, this time full-body pencil works that Tetsurou wanted to ink and color.

“I can’t figure out the yellow of your hair, though,” Tetsurou laughed, his hand ruffling Tsukishima’s curls with affection that Tsukishima had grown to accept and which he even leaned into. “I know it’s my favorite hue of sunset, but I just can’t get it down on paper.”

“You sound like an 19th century romanticist,” Tsukishima sighed, but his lips curved into a secret smile, pleased with Tetsurou’s words – pleased that Tetsurou had to work on solving him. “It’s kind of lame, honestly.”

“You love it,” Tetsurou teased. “You love _me._ ”

Tsukishima didn’t say anything in a while, his eyes staring Tetsurou intently, and for one horrible moment Tetsurou’s heart stammered, screaming _you shouldn’t have said that, now you ruined it._

“Well,” Tsukishima said quietly, the words a quiet sigh as he leaned in close, “I guess I’m a little stupid for you.” His lips hovered over Tetsurou’s, hesitance obvious in the air, and Tetsurou’s heart beat hard and fast to the rhythm of the words in his head ( _please please please_ ).

He must have said one of them out loud, because Tsukki closed the distance between them, dry lips against Tetsurou’s softer ones, and there was the feeling, the intensity that Tetsurou had fought hard to entice out past Tsukishima’s indifferent façade.

The sheets of paper fell from their hands when they became busy with each other, hands moving to cradle the other and to cling like both of them were afraid of the other slipping away. Their breaths turned shallow and mingled, but the skin contact was much more important and more urgent than the need to breathe.

Tsukishima’s hand dove into Tetsurou’s hair, tugging and stroking and tugging again, as his mouth pushed against Tetsurou’s, clumsy and needy with every movement, like this was what Tsukishima had been wanting for an eternity.

Tetsurou knew this was what _he_ had wanted for an eternity (ever since meeting Tsukishima for real back in May, a month after Tsukishima had started at the university).

Tsukishima broke the kiss, gasping for air with parted, wet lips, and Tetsurou had half the urge to push him down against the couch cushions and make out, to really _feel_ that pearly pale skin.

“Go out with me sometime?” he asked instead, softly, as his hand on Tsukishima’s hip rubs at the waistband of the shorts.

Tsukishima huffed. “Haven’t we already?”

“Officially, I mean,” Tetsurou laughed nervously, leaning over to press their foreheads together as his hands found Tsukishima’s cheeks, damp with sweat and hot with feelings. “I really like you, Tsukki,” he murmured into Tsukishima’s breathing space.

Tsukishima’s face flushed harder. “Me too, Kuroo,” he managed to get out of his throat, teeth grinding together awkwardly and out of the urge to lock his feelings away behind a face of nonchalance. “Me too…” he whispered, head tilting a little as he rubbed his forehead against Kuroo’s, pressing their noses together for a moment.

“Eskimo kiss?” Tetsurou grinned.

“Eskimo kiss,” Tsukishima confirmed and laughed just a little.

Tetsurou’s ears tingled in the most pleasant way afterwards, and he couldn’t help laughing and nuzzling his nose against Tsukishima’s.

“So, can I call you Kei now?”

.

.

.

 

Of course, he couldn’t call him Kei right away. He could live with that, but at least Tsukishima hadn’t refused him when he had said “I’ll think of you as _Kei_ from now on, though”. If anything, Kei’s lips had only thinned with the effort to not smile at his ridiculously serious tone.

 _Kei, Kei, Kei Kei Kei._ Tetsurou’s mind was full of his name, and even fuller of the person himself.

“You’re so beautiful,” Tetsurou blurted out when Kei came over again, different shorts hugging his upper thighs this time but leaving most of his legs still revealed.

But most importantly, Tetsurou had Kei’s face in sight again, and he didn’t waste any time in leaving over to brush their lips together for a quick peck before stepping aside to let Kei fully in.

“Sure,” Kei muttered, as he took off his flip-flops, toes curling as his feet met the floor. “I hate living in third floor.”

“It’s not much easier down here,” Tetsurou laughed, fitting his fingers between Kei’s as they plopped down on the couch that had turned into _theirs_ at some point along the way. “But I’d suffer hell’s flames if it meant having you here.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Kei snorted, bumping their shoulders together accidentally as he adjusted himself and his long limbs. “No one should go through hell just to be with someone,” he added quietly, as an explanation, lips thin and brow wrinkled.

Tetsurou hummed, noting the seriousness of Kei’s downward-turned lips and the rigidness of his posture.

There were things that Kei’s words would never convey, but which his body language did, and now Tetsurou saw – sensed – something eating up at Kei, something close to past mistakes and worries that made Kei uncomfortable in his body, uncomfortable with himself.

“Sorry, sorry,” Tetsurou murmured as he draped an arm over Kei’s shoulders, pressing their cheeks together. “You’re right, Tsukki.” He turned his head, nose poking at Kei’s cheekbone. “But I would do quite a lot for your happiness, anyway.”

Kei leaned against him, shoulder pressing against Tetsurou’s. “You’re hopeless,” he muttered.

The words _and I for yours_ weren’t spoken aloud, but the gentleness of Kei’s mouth against Tetsurou’s in the next moment let him know of their existence.

.

.

.

Tetsurou hadn’t visited Kei’s apartment many times, despite it being the place where everything started – them seated across from each other at a small table, cups of coffee between them as they had held quiet conversation about university and life, about Tetsurou’s penchant for drawing and Kei’s major.

Anything but the first time they had met at the party, Kei’s loneliness drowned out of everyone else’s sight.

Somewhere in mid-August, with the heatwave at its worst, Tetsurou found himself in Kei’s apartment again, his fingers entwined with Kei’s as they stepped in, mouths locked and hearts trembling like those of two lovers often did.

They were a little drunk – that was probably the reason they had ignored Tetsurou’s apartment on the first floor and taken the elevator to third, hands clumsily pressed together and silly discussions bursting out to between hiccups and kisses.

They stumbled into Kei’s apartment and broke the silence, though Kei seemed to sober up a little once he realized he had brought Tetsurou home with him.

The moment of clarity was soon gone when Tetsurou mouthed nonsensical words against Kei’s pale neck, lips moving and brushing words into Kei’s skin. Each tremor was felt, each shudder igniting a quiet burning in Tetsurou’s stomach.

“Kuroo, Kuroo,” Kei breathed out, voice full of fondness as his hand tugged at Tetsurou’s hair and legs tumbled backwards and led them to the small living room area. “You’re paying the funeral bill if I fall and break my neck.”

“Will I at least be able to call you Kei then?” Tetsurou laughed clumsily, pulling Kei down on the small, worn-out couch that barely fit the two – which was fine with him, since they were forced to entangle their limbs and stay close enough to almost feel like one entity with shared skin and body heat.

Kei snorted out a laughter. “I’m dead, and that’s _all_ you can think? About whether you could call me by my name at the funeral? As if I could stop you.”

“I’d be heartbroken, of course,” Tetsurou whispered, more somber now. “What would a life without Tsukishima Kei be? Duller, that’s for sure. No more sketches of beautiful moon cheeks and pastel hair. No more of tall, gangly Tsukki for me to love and hold and spoil rotten.” Tetsurou’s chest ached at the thought, his muddled mind shaking at the corners at the thought of losing Kei permanently.

“Stop going all poetic on me,” Kei muttered, his voice wavering – rising and falling unsteadily with the shaking of his body. His eyes were glassy, glistening with unexplained tears that threatened to make their way down Kei’s cheeks as the mood swing hit the atmosphere like a tidal wave. “It’s not like it would matter after a month or two.”

“Of course it would matter,” Tetsurou said, scandalized already at the words but even more so at the pearly pale tears that hung from Kei’s eyes, a stark contrast to the ever darkening eye bags. Tetsurou leaned in, bumping his forehead against Kei’s a little too hard as he flopped himself over on top of Kei.

The pale brown eyes, like dark sunset yellow, widened. Dim from the drinks but alight with feelings that Tetsurou wanted to understand, feelings that were like a hurricane Kei couldn’t control.

But not everything always needed to be in control.

“I love you,” Tetsurou breathed out the words before he could think too much, impulsive and thoughtless as he was with rushing adrenaline in his veins and feeling thrumming in his heart. “I love you, Tsukki.”

There was so much that should have been said, so much more that should have been conveyed other than the singular emotion.

So much more Kei needed to hear.

So much that didn’t reach Kei’s ears that night.

.

.

.

He woke up to an insistent pain behind his eyes, making him flinch and grumble as he tried to ignore it by burrowing deeper into the warmth his face was stuffed against.

A shifting motion of the warmth he held onto made Tetsurou blink his eyes open reluctantly – _stop moving away_ – and his breath to hitch in his throat once he realized he was holding onto a taller boy with beach blond hair and a personality that made Tetsurou love him.

Speaking of which.

Tetsurou totally told Kei he loved him last night, hadn’t he?

Tetsurou’s stomach flipped as he tried to recall Kei’s response to the hastily and drunkenly spoken words.

No memory came to mind.

Tetsurou sighed, nuzzling his nose into the back of Kei’s neck and inhaling the scent of his boyfriend – calming, constant, easy on the nose.

Lips curling upwards, Tetsurou kissed at the skin available from his spooning position, poking his nose into the short strands of Kei’s angel hair.

“Good morning, moonshine,” he murmured when Kei shuddered into his touch, limbs twitching with the weariness of waking up. “How’re you holding up?”

“Like I’m dying slowly,” Kei grumbled lowly, voice hoarse and dry like the skin under Tetsurou’s touch. “Melting into a puddle and never getting up.”

“I can’t believe I fell for a puddle,” Tetsurou snickered.

“Deal with it,” Kei grumbled, shoving an elbow against Tetsurou’s side in an effort to get Tetsurou off of him. “You’re not helping my meltdown, Kuroo-san.”

Tetsurou’s heart leaped, a soft feeling curling inside his chest and settled into a pleasant ache in his bones. “Are you saying I’m hot, Tsukki?” he snickered, pressing another kiss to the crook of Kei’s neck and marveling the tenderness of the pale skin that seemed to glow in daylight.

The sheets underneath them were warm, wrinkled from their sleep, blanket thrown haphazardly somewhere neither of them could see nor cared enough to get up to look for.

Tetsurou only cared for the feel of his chest pressed against Kei’s back, his heart thumping nervously as his hand wandered on Kei’s white tee, settling over the chest where he felt an anxious rhythm of a heart.

He felt Kei’s breath hitching rather than heard it. “Kuroo-san…”

“Good morning,” Tetsurou repeated, fingertips tender as the trailed to Kei’s side, sliding under the shirt and over the ribs. Kei’s wheeze was audible this time. “Wasn’t expecting to wake up holding onto such a lovely sight.”

Kei grumbled incomprehensibly, but he seemed content on leaning into Tetsurou’s touch, shoulders descending and Tetsurou’s lips following the movement.

“Absolutely lovely,” Tetsurou cooed, sound light and his breath fanning at the skin of Kei’s neck.

“You’re far too cheerful for someone that should have a hangover right about now,” Kei groaned, finally bringing himself to make the effort to brush himself away from Tetsurou’s feather-gentle grasp.

“It’s ‘coz you’re here with me,” Tetsurou laughed, his throat constricting around the sound and making him cough. “Really… it only took this long for me to finally share a morning with you again, Tsukki.”

The back of Kei’s neck burned with embarrassment as Kei finally flung himself off the bed onto his unsteady legs, covered by a badly dressed pajama pants that were about to fall off. Tetsurou laughed hoarsely, appreciating the sight of Kei’s hips the tee and the pants didn’t hide. “Are you okay, Tsukki?”

Kei staggered on the first few steps, hands searching for anything to take support. “Just peachy,” Kei muttered, voice barely audible over the rustle of clothes that his feet got caught up in.

The sight of fumbling hands and staggering feet made Tetsurou’s stomach drop. A vague discomfort pulled at the edges of his mind, nauseating in its inexplicability.

It was probably just the hangover, Tetsurou thought as he closed his eyes and planted his face into the soft pillows again, words _I’m glad I got to see you like this_ flashing in the back of his mind before a pounding headache drowned them out.

.

.

.

Summer felt like it would never end, and Tetsurou for one didn’t want it to. It wasn’t only the short shorts and abdomen-revealing shirts that Kei wore, but also the heated, lazy kisses that Kei gave him even despite finding Tetsurou’s sweat gross – all of them left Tetsurou weak on the knees, and regretting that university was going to come between them again.

“Your sulking face is ugly,” was what Kei told him in a defensive tone after one heated kiss, a rush of a blush reddening his face ( _the summer heat_ , Kei claimed) but Tetsurou could feel the tiniest smile curling on Kei’s lips when they pressed against his.

And it was enough.

Kei’s gestures said enough.

.

.

.

The last night of summer required all of them to get together in Tetsurou’s apartment – Akaashi, Bokuto, Tetsurou and Kei.

“Metallica on a ukulele,” Tetsurou murmured into Kei’s ear. “He’s sickeningly good at it.”

“Bokuto-san?” Kei asked quietly, quiet resignation to his tone.

“Bokuto,” Tetsurou confirmed with a low snicker, lips brushing at the shell of Kei’s ear as he continued, “He’s really good, too. Should listen to his Metallica solos some time.”

“Metallica?” Kei’s interest was piqued, on the rise like the tidal waves in Tetsurou’s heart when it came to the pale-faced, long-limbed young man.

“He might want to try to pull you into some sort of song off,” Tetsurou admitted, nose nuzzling into Kei’s hair just as the person they talked about entered the room with the aura of someone ready to get wrecked.

“Speak of the devil,” Tetsurou laughed as he pulled himself away from Kei with obvious reluctance. “Yo, Bokuto.”

Bokuto, with bottles of soda and at hand, grinned at them, his smile as wild as his hair. It was quite an accomplishment in its own right, and Tetsurou could feel Kei snickering into his shoulder while trying not to let it be heard.

“It’s time,” Bokuto declared with all the solemnity he could muster, “to—hey, where’s Keiji?”

Kei stiffened, and Tetsurou was pretty sure he knew the reason for that. With an inward sigh, Tetsurou draped an arm over Kei’s waist, hand rubbing at Kei’s hip in the way he knew Kei appreciated. (Light, reminding touch of _you don’t have to do anything differently_.)

“Akaashi went for a smoke,” Tetsurou said, “he should come back in a few... I’m surprised you didn’t see him on your way back from getting the soda.”

Bokuto’s face twisted into a frown as he set the bottles of carbonated drinks, placing the instrument gently down on the table. “I thought he quit it already.”

“He’s been stressing over his courses lately,” Tetsurou shrugged, trying not to be distracted by how good it felt to have Kei against him, how good Kei smelled. “You know how he gets if he feels antsy, Bokuto.”

“Still,” Bokuto whined, picking one bottle and rolling the cork open a little too harshly. “I wish he’d talk to me when that happens, y’know? It makes me feel, I dunno, like he doesn’t trust me.”

“Bokuto, that’s not how it is,” Tetsurou said, “and you know it.”

Kei cleared his throat awkwardly from his side. “Akaashi-san talks about you often, Bokuto-san; you have no reason to worry about where his trust lies.”

Bokuto and Kuroo glanced at Kei in surprise, Bokuto nearly dropping the bottle of Coke from his hands as he blinked owlishly. “Hold up, Tsukki, you and Keiji talk? Without _us_?”

“We do, in fact, have lives outside of you two,” Kei deadpanned, inching closer to Kuroo after a moment of mortification. “Akaashi-san and I do our laundry on the same days,” he added with a shrug, fingers curling tight around Tetsurou’s as if to shield himself from anything Bokuto could say.

“Huh,” Bokuto whistled. “Laundry buddies.”

Kei shrugged. “Guess so.”

 

It shouldn’t be surprising, considering that both Akaashi and Kei were the reserved type, both tending to hide their real emotions than face them if they were uncomfortable.

And, well, it _had_ been through Akaashi that Tetsurou had found Kei.

“Keiji!” Bokuto was all over the other once Akaashi was back in, looking a little worse for wear as he rubbed at his eyes. “Keiji, I didn’t know you and Tsukki were such good friends!”

“Uh,” Akaashi dodged Bokuto’s intended hug, and sat down beside Kei, effectively squeezing him tighter against Tetsurou. “I suppose you could say so. Laundry truly brings people together… Koutarou, _glasses._ ”

Bokuto, his mouth hovering over the neck of a bottle, pouted. “Keijiiii…”

“No indirect kisses, Koutarou. Tsukishima-kun and Kuroo-san don’t appreciate your spit, I’m sure.” Akaashi’s expression melted into a grin when he got up just long enough to be able to murmur something to Bokuto’s ear, something that made the other’s mood brighter in an instant.

“Of course!” Bokuto’s sudden cheeriness was alarming, and Tetsurou cocked a brow at Akaashi once he had seated himself again as Bokuto rushed out of the room (and the apartment).

“What did you tell him?”

Akaashi shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “He went to get his instrument. As this is the last night of the summer, it’s fitting for Koutarou to go all out.” _I must not suffer alone_ were the only words Tetsurou could use to describe the devilish flicker in Akaashi’s eyes.

“Oh man,” Kuroo grinned, nudging at Kei, “see, I told you. Maybe we should go get your guitar, Tsukki.”

“Let’s not,” Kei mumbled, his tone a little off. “I’m sure Bokuto-san can perform just fine on his own.”

“Aww, but you play so well,” Tetsurou crooned, nuzzling at the side of Kei’s face with deep-rooted affection. It was amazing how much the summer-born romance felt like true love, when Kei shivered away with an exasperated flush on his face while his fingers held onto Tetsurou’s, tucked into the spaces between the other’s.

“Tsukishima-kun plays guitar?” Akaashi’s mild smile was curious enough to warrant the following groan from Kei.

“I’m not really good.”

“He’s the _best_ ,” Tetsurou stage whispered to Akaashi, winking. “His love songs are amazing.”

“I do not—“

“I see,” Akaashi’s smile turned wry. “It is good you have found someone as sappy as yourself, Kuroo-san.”

“Hey, it’s called _romantic—_ “

“I’m not as bad as him—“

Akaashi laughed quietly as both of them flushed and scowled at him.

 

“Watch me as I finger this uke,” Bokuto, once he had returned and stuffed himself beside Akaashi, said solemnly, and Tetsurou had the time of his life watching Kei choke on the chip he had been lazily eating.

“Go for it, Bokuto,” Tetsurou nodded, a slow grin on his face very encouraging and supportive, and Kei just gave him a look that said _are you fucking kidding me right now, Kuroo-san._

“My body is ready,” Akaashi said calmly, arms relaxing from his chest where they had lain crossed.

“Wait, what—“ Kei’s perplexed expression with raised eyebrows and wide eyes, reminding Tetsurou of a confused, lost puppy, was the cutest thing ever, and Tetsurou grinned as he kissed his cheek.

“Are you ready to rock,” Bokuto’s grin was as dangerous as they came as he pulled out a ukulele.

A ukulele.

“Oh.” Kei relaxed by Tetsurou’s side while Tetsurou himself shook with laughter, feeling Kei’s bemusement turn into a mild irritation over being fooled like this. “Kuroo-san, stop laughing—“

“I’m here all evening, gents,” Bokuto interrupted, winking at them but mostly at Akaashi. It was almost disgusting how obviously lovestruck Bokuto _still_ got around the other, though Tetsurou supposed he shouldn’t complain.

He was worse with Kei, what with the feeling of falling deeper every day and the uncharacteristic feeling that something terrible was going to happen.

“I also take requests!” Bokuto added, his fingers resting over the strings of the uke, ready to _finger_ , so to speak.

Tetsurou lost it again, and Kei elbowed him.

“Okay, which awful pop song shall it be—“

Akaashi cut Tetsurou off, eyes half-lidded and a little smile tugging at his mouth as he settled back on the worn-out and cramped couch. “ _We’re All in This Together.”_

Bokuto’s eyes brightened. “Kuroo, you do the vocals.”

“As usual, dude,” Tetsurou raised index and middle fingers to his forehead in mock salute.

“High School Musical, seriously?” Kei grumbled by his side, leaning over to pick up a bottle of soda, eyes darting from side to side.

“Ah… I’ll get the glasses,” Akaashi said quietly, nodding at Bokuto. “You can start without me, Koutarou.”

“Sure thing, Keiji!”

 

 

It was the last night of the summer, and nothing could feel better, especially after the imminent sugar high came after what felt like fifteen glasses of different sodas and a cake which Bokuto had poured energy drinks on when no one had been looking.

“I can’t believe you know the High School Musical songs by heart,” Kei muttered, as if he had been betrayed, while sipping the rest of his soda, fidgeting on his seat on Tetsurou’s lap. Sometimes the warmth of another

“It’s Tsukki’s turn to suggest a song,” Bokuto interrupted, voice merry as his fingers twitched and Keiji helped him take a sip of Coke, gone from the couch and sitting cross-legged next to Bokuto. “High School Musical related!”

“Uh,” Kei made a sound.

“I don’t there a song like that,” Bokuto informed him.

“I literally only know _Gotta Go My Own Way_?” Kei shrugged weakly, hiding his face behind his glass.

“Tsukkiii, that’s a sad song!” Tetsurou groaned, squeezing at Kei’s thigh, and watched Kei squirming to the touch.

“I said it’s the only one I know.”

“I bet he bawled when Gabriella left Troy,” Bokuto whispered. There was no point, since all of them heard him despite Bokuto plucking a few notes here and there.

“That must be it,” Tetsurou agreed, hand moving to rub at Kei’s hip and the jutting hipbone. “S’okay, Tsukki, I’m here for you. I’m not leaving you.”

“Why am I the Troy in this scenario?” Kei squawked indignantly, a certain fondness flickering as his eyes met Tetsurou’s. “I haven’t changed since we met, Kuroo-san.”

“You have,” Tetsurou said. “You’re even cuter than back then.” His fingers itched to either trace at Kei’s face or sketch it. He wasn’t quite sure which; both urges came from his utter fondness for the other, after all.

“Kuroo-san,” Kei groaned, lips curling hesitantly when Tetsurou kissed him to the cheek, to the corner of his mouth, almost anywhere but directly on the lips. “ _Kuroo-san._ ”

“Gay,” Bokuto said.

“ _Koutarou._ ”

“What? It’s true!”

Bokuto was silenced with a firm pair of lips against his, and Tetsurou snickered before Kei shut him up in the same way.

If there was anything meaningful behind Kei taking initiative, Tetsurou didn’t know.

 

It was the last night of summer, and Tetsurou found himself sketching Kei again on his sketchbook, lifting his gaze up every now and then to spare a glance at his model.

“Kei, why do you keep taking off your clothes?”

“It’s hot,” Kei offered as an explanation, his pale skin reddening with what Tetsurou recognized as embarrassment rather than irritation at the question. “I have bad circulation, can’t deal with either cold or heat.” The smile on his face was dry, a touch away from self-loathing. Tetsurou didn’t know why that emotion was there; it was like an odd spot in the otherwise clean canvas.

“So you’re taking off your clothes.” Tetsurou cleared his throat, his hand shaking a little when his eyes trailed down to Kei’s thighs. He hadn’t seen so much of them while completely sober, even with Kei’s short shorts phase.

“Yes,” Kei said, and there was a humorless smile on his lips, his eyes intent on Tetsurou. “Draw me like one of your French girls.”

“I don’t know any French girls,” Tetsurou said weakly.

“You don’t get the reference?”

“Well, yeah, but that led to sex in an old car, Tsukki; don’t get my hopes up, I don’t have condoms around.”

Kei shrugged, honey brown eyes gleaming under the room’s lights, and Tetsurou’s breath caught in his throat. “Tsukki, you—“

“You called me Kei,” Kei interrupted, lips curving up as he wiggled his toes. Bokuto and Akaashi had already migrated back to their own apartment, both laughing and leaning into each other, more or less high from both sugar and young love.

Tetsurou now knew how it was like, to want someone so completely, to want to be Someone for that person.

“Is it alright?” Tetsurou asked, his hold around the pencil tightening. “I know it’s kinda early, but just…” _I have been in love you for a while, now._

Tetsurou didn’t like constrictions, especially when it came to emotions, but there were boundaries that Kei absolutely didn’t want to be crossed.

Tetsurou could respect that – he would always respect that, but it made things hard when all he wanted was to say _I love you, I love you, I **love** you._

“It’s fine,” Kei said, voice and smile soft as he beckoned Tetsurou to join him on Tetsurou’s bed.

Tetsurou glanced down at the half-done sketch of Kei, at the pencil lines of Kei’s face and neck.

“Kei,” he smiled into the name, putting his sketchbook and pencil down before hopping onto the bed, joints creaking at his movements.

“Old man,” Kei teased, having heard the cracking sound.

“You can call me Tetsurou, you know.” Tetsurou leaned over to press a kiss to Kei’s parted mouth, indulging himself with the softness of the lips and the hitch in Kei’s breath.

He felt Kei’s arm drape over his neck, tugging him closer and over Kei’s legs, both of them tumbling down on the mattress.

Both of them laughed, giddy with the feeling of first loves and racing hearts.

“Tetsurou,” Kei whispered against Tetsurou’s lips.

And the world shifted on its axis.

 

 

Tetsurou imagined Kei in a myriad of colors.

There was the obvious yellow: gold of sunsets, the faded yellow of Kei’s old sweatshirt Tetsurou had seen in his room, the eye-hurting neon of Kei’s smile, and the blond of his hair.

There was brown, the deep color of his eyes, ever so observant when they looked at Tetsurou.

There was white, like the pleasure that ran deep into Tetsurou’s bones the previous night with Kei moaning his name, soft and quiet and immensely private as they got each other off.

Other colors included the light blue of the bracelet Tetsurou had gotten him on a whim, one that Kei kept wearing like a lucky charm, and the dark red of the shirt Kei had borrowed from Tetsurou, all awkward and tense when Tetsurou had assured it was okay, that if Kei liked the shirt, he could keep it.

 

Tetsurou bought watercolors the next day after his classes: after the morning waking up alone to a message from Kei ( _I have morning class_ , the note had said), after somehow dragging himself to university with his hair even messier than normal.

The watercolors weren’t necessarily the best kind, nor were there many colors, but a student budget didn’t allow much, so Tetsurou settled for it.

Kei wouldn’t be coming over that day, Tetsurou had a feeling.

So he did the next best thing: ignored his homework, and started painting on whatever paper he had with the watercolors, sometimes over his sketches of Kei’s face and body.

It made him smile, watching color fill Kei’s face.

 

It wasn’t so bad to be in love.

 

It only took him a couple of days to realize that Kei was avoiding him, for whatever reason. It would have stung less if there had been an explicitly stated reason for it, but there wasn’t, and Tetsurou was confused.

Mostly worried.

(He remembered how Kei sometimes looked very far away from the situation, from Tetsurou, like he wasn’t living in the moment with him.

Like there was something on his mind that he couldn’t bring himself to say.)

He sent a couple of messages to Kei, only to receive _I have lots of homework_ and _I’m busy_ in response.

Kei was avoiding _him._

Saturday rolled by, and so did Kei.

“I thought you were busy,” Tetsurou said flatly, sounding more irritated than how he felt, and Kei flinched, fingers entwined with one another as he looked away.

“I was,” he said slowly, fingers trembling against each other just enough for Tetsurou to pick up on it.

“Come in,” Tetsurou stepped aside from his doorstep, taking pity on the clearly anxious mess that was Tsukishima Kei.

(The dark rings under his eyes spoke of unslept nights, the nail marks on the backs of his hands of irritation and emotional difficulties)

“Thank you,” Kei took the offer, his hands carefully extending towards Tetsurou as if in search for an embrace before Kei caught himself and pulled his hands back.

Tetsurou couldn’t help himself, really, even though he should feel miffed by Kei’s weeklong cold shoulder. “Welcome back, Tsukki,” he said instead, feeling Kei’s tension slowly ease away from his muscles as they hugged.

“It’s good to be back,” Kei returned, and it sounded a little like _I’m home_.

Tetsurou almost melted from relief.

 

Kei sat awkwardly on the couch, hands holding his knees up to his chest as his face remained blank, with small hints of insecurity flickering in his eyes when he glanced at Tetsurou.

Tetsurou noted that it seemed to be as natural to Kei as it was to him – that their gazes inevitably landed on the other, resting on the other’s face and taking in the sight without putting any thought behind it.

It was like gravitation, almost, and Tetsurou’s stomach flipped, the butterflies from the first time he met Kei on that sunny day many weeks ago (months, even) coming back.

“Is something the matter, Tsukki?” Tetsurou asked, slow and quiet enough to not disturb the almost peace that had settled between them what with Tetsurou sketching Kei again and Kei sitting still, his limbs twitching every now and then on the worn-out couch.

“I’m sorry,” Kei blurted out after a moment of awkward silence, hands tight around his denim-covered knees. “I was an ass, ignoring your messages.”

“Yeah, that kinda stung,” Tetsurou agreed, setting his sketchbook down before strolling over to Kei’s side, plopping down and curling around Kei. “First week back at university was tough without you, moonshine.”

“Sorry,” Kei repeated uneasily, ignoring the nickname as he leaned into Tetsurou’s warmth far more readily than before.

Tetsurou felt Kei’s shivers, though. “Tsukki…?”

“You told me you loved me, you know,” Kei said quietly. “Twice over the course of summer.”

Tetsurou remembered, and he stilled. “Is that why—“

“I thought it was just going to be a summer romance, Kuroo-san,” Kei continued in a low murmur, “I couldn’t figure out why you would say that to a summer fling. The first time we were drunk, so it was easy to ignore.”

_Oh._

Tetsurou felt like he was going to choke in his own tongue. “I would never lie about something like that, Kei,” he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the side of Kei’s head. “I would never do that, and you were never going to be a summer fling.”

Tetsurou thought back to the first time he had caught a glimpse of Kei’s beautiful hair, golden under the light of the sun, and he remembered the way it had beaten the breath out of him then.

“The second time,” Kei continued, hands letting go of his knees as one of them searched for Tetsurou’s fingers, “was here, after that strange end of the summer party with Akaashi-san and Bokuto-san, when we…”

Tetsurou remembered; during the week of Kei’s absence, he had been worried that _that_ had driven Kei away, even after explicit consent he had received from Kei to touch him.

Tetsurou had said the words then too, breathed them against Kei’s mouth before he could stop himself.

“You thought it was just a summer fling,” Tetsurou repeated quietly, dumbfounded as he nuzzled his nose against Kei’s cheek.

“You never told me otherwise,” Kei said defensively, voice sharpening. “You have quite a reputation, Kuroo-san, how else was I—“

“Wait, _what_ reputation?”

“Er,” Kei sounded less sure then. “Reputation of being, ah, a playboy.”

Tetsurou estimated it took at least seven minutes of him to find his chill again; he laughed _that_ hard at the words Kei had just uttered with all seriousness.

“Tsukki, _jesus_ , I have never even _dated_.”

Kei huffed. “How was I supposed to know that? You seemed like you knew your stuff.”

“Tsukkiiiii,” Tetsurou laughed, “you should have _asked_ me! I would have told you I meant every word I ever uttered, every silly thing I ever did for you.”

“Hmh.” Kei’s head moved, pushing Tetsurou’s away as he looked down at his lap. “I’m not… very good at communicating. Yamaguchi always takes the initiative when it comes to keeping in touch.”

  1. Kei’s oldest friend, whom Kei sometimes mentioned.



The one engaged with a ginger-haired ball of sunshine, if Tetsurou had understood right; the memories kind of blurred with the ones about them making out on Tetsurou’s couch, hands warm against each other.

“I’m sorry,” Tetsurou sighed, using his fingers to tilt Kei’s face towards him. “I should have made my intentions clear.” Kiss. Another one right after. “You know, I think it was love at first sight for me.”

“You exaggerate.”

“Not in the least. You have seen the early sketches I had made of you before we got to know each other better, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“I kept drawing and drawing, trying to figure out your face,” Tetsurou said fondly, fingers caressing at the underside of Kei’s jaw. “Your nose, your lips. Your cheeks. Your glasses, your eyes.”

“ _Kuroo-san_ —“

“Call me Tetsurou,” Tetsurou teased, pressing a kiss on Kei’s nose. “…and now, please let me figure out _you_ ,” he murmured as he pressed his forehead against Kei’s, smiling at the faint flush on Kei’s face and the widening of the brown eyes that had haunted his dreams for so long.

“Cheesy,” Kei muttered.

“Well, the moon is made of cheese, so,” Tetsurou snickered, “pot calls the kettle black, I guess.”

“Oh, my God.” Kei rolled his eyes, but leaned over to kiss Tetsurou’s lips anyway, all gentle and a little timid as though still worried this wasn’t real.

Tetsurou kissed him back, whole-hearted and happy.

.

.

.

Several weeks later, in early October, Tetsurou had an epiphany, and he stopped painting Kei’s back for a moment. (Face paint. Tetsurou was going to paint a whole world on Kei’s back.)

“Tetsurou?” Kei turned his head slightly, still lying on his stomach against the yoga mattress Tetsurou had gotten for this purpose only.

“I completely forgot,” Tetsurou muttered, “I can’t believe this.” He stood up, stretching his tired arms, glanced at the world of color on Kei’s back.

( _The Cat and the Crow_ , he named it fondly.)

“Tetsurou?” Kei repeated, sounding vaguely concerned but more annoyed than anything else. “It’s not our month-versary, please stop freaking out.”

“No, not that,” Tetsurou waved the words off. “I can’t believe I never asked when your birthday was.”

“September 27th,” Kei answered simply, a lot of laughter in his voice, which would have made Tetsurou happy…. _but._

“I can’t _believe_ you never told me,” Tetsurou groaned, staring down at his boyfriend and the possible love of his life (whoa there, _slow down a bit, buddy_ ). “We _missed_ your birthday! I missed the chance to pamper you!”

“You never asked, so I never said anything,” Kei answered, snickering under his breath. “Please, it’s not a big deal.”

“It _is_!” Tetsurou moaned. “This makes me an awful boyfriend… oh, _wait._ ”

“Oh no.” Kei was concerned with whatever idea had just popped into Tetsurou’s head.

“ _My_ birthday isn’t until November 17 th… how about we meet halfway and celebrate both of ours on October 19th?” Tetsurou was happy with this idea, though he was still pacing around the living room area. “Just us two.”

“…why October 19th?” Kei sounded skeptical as he propped himself up with his arms, throwing a mystified look at Tetsurou, whose face practically glowed.

“It’s full moon that night, Tsukki. It’s _perfect_.”

“Oh, my God,” Kei flopped back down with a groan. “You’re even worse than I thought when this term began.”

“You love me.”

“Sort of. It depends on the circumstances,” Kei said, but the fondness that dripped into each his words betrayed him.

“I love _you_ , regardless,” Tetsurou declared, hands on his hips and wearing an expression of a man that had all he could possibly need in his life.

(Except, so far, a steady income.)

“I love you too,” Kei said quietly, just loud enough for Tetsurou to hear him.

It brightened his world, just like Kei’s steady shine that rivaled the Moon.

It was the best of times; the worst of times would come later, but Tetsurou was confident they would make through them together.

“October 19th,” he reminded Kei once more.

“October 19th,” Kei repeated.

And that was that.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it's not terribly inconsistent,;;;;;;;;;;  
> Tsukki's mental state was supposed to have a bigger role in this, at least more discussed, but eh. My Tsukki is partially based on how depression appears and affects me, so maybe that's why I didn't make it into a bigger deal.  
> Thank you for reading and managing to finish this horrid piece;;;;;;;;


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